


Dunes

by magpie_fngrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_fngrl/pseuds/magpie_fngrl
Summary: Harry and Draco are meant to be collecting seaweed on the beach. Draco, however, has other plans.*Written for the Anywhere But The Bed comment fest on LJ.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is something I worked on really fast for the [Anywhere But The Bed](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/152481.html) comment fest and posted immediately, which I don't normally do, and it's unbeta-ed so: apologies for the mistakes. 
> 
> 2\. This is Hogwarts Era AU in my mind — one where Voldemort doesn't exist but the boys are still antagonistic towards one another. In canon, the only time this scene could fit in (again, imo) would be end of Year Five and before the Department of Mysteries. Feel free to make up your own mind as to when this takes place.

“This,” Malfoy says, his drawl exaggerated even for his standards, “Is. Ridiculous.”

He’s standing on top of the dune, hands on hips, knee jutting forward like a prince surveying his kingdom, bright hair ruffled by the fierce ocean breeze at Balmedie beach, and Harry wants to deck him.

“ _You_ are ridiculous,” he says and Malfoy’s eyes flash. “Now, if you’ve finished posing, come and give us a hand.”

Malfoy smiles, a hungry look on his face that makes him look a little dangerous. “I’d _love_ to give you a hand, Potter. Will you let me?”

“What are you on about?” Harry says, even as his stomach flips. The look in Malfoy’s eyes makes him shiver. “Get down here.”

But Malfoy doesn’t move. He still stands there, staring at Harry who’s at the bottom of the dune around the seaweed they’re meant to be collecting. The other students’ voices drift in the wind, mingled with seagull cries and the rumble of the ocean. Harry stands and pats his robes to dust the sand off.

“Alrighty then. I’ll go tell the Professor you want to pair with someone else. Neville or Smith. Or Ron and Hermione who, let me tell you, _won’t_ be happy to have someone break their—”

“Oh shut up, Potter.” Malfoy trudges down to Harry. He waves his wand carelessly over the seaweed and a clump of it emits a faint silver light where it was touched by selkie skin. Harry cuts out the glowing parts with a Diffindo and stuffs them in the bag he’s lugging around.

The salty breeze pushes Malfoy’s hair on his face and he uses a hand to push it back. “Are these enough?”

“This is just a handful, Malfoy. I seem to recall you were standing there with the rest of us when Snape specifically asked for a full bag.”

“Were you paying attention to me, Potter?” Malfoy grins.

 _Yes,_ is the truthful answer so Harry says nothing and scowls. Of course he was paying attention, he always pays attention to Malfoy, because Malfoy is _evil_ and up to no good, and pestering him now with stupid, sly questions that Harry doesn’t like one bit so he moves on to the next dune and starts the spell on a fresh patch of seaweed. Malfoy follows, crouches next to him, and helps, sighing occasionally or glancing at Harry and biting his lip, and generally being as irritating as possible.

“Can you tone down the theatrics and get on with it?” Harry growls. Malfoy huffs loudly.

Soon they’ve moved towards the far end of the beach. The sun has come out, bathing the landscape in a white light that bleaches the colour out of the sand and the sea. The birds call to one another, circling above their heads, creating a racket. Harry can’t hear the other students over the sound of the pounding surf; perhaps they’ve wandered far. It’s hard to see the silver glow of the seaweed in this blinding light and it makes their work slow. Malfoy’s cheeks and nose have caught the sun and Harry feels his shirt sticking to his back. Their cloaks and robes are heaped on a pile next to them as they work, ignoring one another.

“I’m bored,” Malfoy says suddenly and sits on his heels. He looks at Harry. “Are you bored?”

“I’m not having the time of my life here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Such a nice day,” Malfoy comments, looking at the sunlight reflected off the sea. “This isn’t how I planned to spend my morning.”

“How did you plan to spend your morning then?” Harry asks. “Ignoring Snape’s orders? Running the risk of detention? Annoying the hell out of me?”

“All of the above,” Malfoy says. He moves the pile of clothing in the shade and flops on it. “Mostly I wanted to get out of the castle.”

A long silence.

“If you fall asleep, I’ll leave you there,” Harry says.

“No idea why you’re in such a rush to get back,” Malfoy murmurs, an arm covering his face. “There’s nothing to do at school. Neither of us even has Quidditch practice.”

“How do you know I don’t have practice today?”

Silence. The breeze ruffles Harry’s hair and rustles through the long beach grass around them. It’s really a beautiful morning, fresh and sharp and full of the smell of the ocean. Harry finds himself feeling rather peaceful, especially now that Malfoy has finally shut up. Taking a break is actually not a bad idea, but Malfoy has commandeered the only spot of shade.

“Scoot over,” he says and prods Malfoy with the tip of his shoe.

Malfoy sighs again, dramatically, but scoots to one side and Harry lies beside him, making sure not to touch him. “The others will look for us,” he says.

“Eventually,” Malfoy replies.

Harry should feel very comfortable lying there. The cloak under him is certainly soft enough and the shade cools his heated, sweaty skin. However, the fact that _Malfoy_ lies next to him makes him tense. Malfoy doesn’t speak or move, he just _breathes_ and it’s a wonder how someone’s breathing can annoy Harry so much. The sight of Malfoy’s chest rising and falling; the almost inaudible sound escaping his lips; the nostrils widening _just so_ every time he inhales. It’s exasperating.

“I did have one thing planned for this morning.” Malfoy startles Harry who realises he’s been staring.

“Would it annoy me?” Harry drags his eyes from Malfoy’s face and stares at the sky.

“Probably. Everything I do seems to annoy you.”

Malfoy doesn’t say anything else for a moment.

“Well,” Harry asks, “what was it?”

“I planned to suck your cock,” Malfoy says.

Harry almost chokes. “You—?”

“Yes. I wrote it in my diary and everything. _April 26 th. Suck Potter’s cock_.”

Harry wants to laugh and call his bluff or maybe huff in anger and leave, but he’s besieged by an onslaught of physical reactions: his skin heats up, his heart is pounding, his breaths come short, his palms are all sweaty, and what’s worse, his cock is clearly interested in the idea. Malfoy hasn’t moved one inch as he uttered these words, perfectly calm next to Harry’s storm of emotions, as if he just made a comment about the weather.

“Whatever.” Harry has no idea what he means by it, but Malfoy takes it as an invitation.

“Does this mean you’ll let me?” Malfoy now rises and Harry notices the gleam in his eyes. Harry swallows. “Can I, Potter?”

“Whatever.” Harry’s brain seems devoid of any other words but this, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to care. He kneels over Harry and runs a hand over the swelling in his trousers.

“Has anyone sucked your cock before?”

Harry stops himself in case the word ‘whatever’ escapes him again. He shakes his head and Malfoy smiles and unzips Harry’s trousers, pushes down his pants and grabs his cock, making Harry gasp. “You’ll love it, you’ll see.”

Malfoy licks his lips and Harry feels an actual physical ache at the sight of it. He wonders whether too much sea air is bad for you, because even though he is aware there’s nothing around to hide them — no walls, or bed curtains, or a shower stall — he also _really doesn’t care_. He wants this.

 “Well, stop faffing about and suck it, then,” he says gruffly.

“Look at you, so demanding,” Malfoy says. He licks the soft head of Harry’s cock, his tongue sliding under the helmet and around the slit. The sensation is enough to drive Harry mad. He had _no idea_ it felt this way.

Malfoy meets his eyes and takes him in.

Harry is suddenly very aware that he’s lying on a beach getting sucked off by Malfoy. The bright sunlight makes everything sharper, more real — but also slightly _un_ real. Harry has no idea how he found himself in this position, but he suspects he must have done something good in his life to deserve this. Malfoy’s mouth is soft, warm, wet, and his lips slide over Harry’s cock, sending shivers up his spine and making his toes curl. He’s aware of moans and he’s also aware that they come from him. _Anyone_ could hear them, they might even be right around this very dune, but neither the threat of being seen nor of failing Potions will make Harry stop now. He runs his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, and Malfoy cups Harry’s balls and strokes the base of the cock in time with his mouth. Harry can’t stop looking at Malfoy’s face, intent and eager and so fair, and when Malfoy looks up at him and smiles around his cock, he knows he won’t last much longer.

“I’m — I’m coming,” he gasps and Malfoy sucks him harder, his head bobbing up down, saliva dripping down Harry’s cock. Harry tightens his fingers in Malfoy’s hair and comes inside his mouth with a yell; a mouth which swallows him clean.

Harry lets his head fall back on the cloak, dazed and panting. When he raises his head again, Malfoy looks at him, still crouched between his legs, lips swollen. This is a different Malfoy than the one he knows: soft and trembling and open, and Harry still _wants_. Harry pulls him up and feels the warm body on him, Malfoy’s erection pressing against his hip. His grey eyes widen when Harry kisses his wet, beautiful lips and he sighs as he rocks against Harry, slow and firm. Harry trails a hand down Malfoy’s back and with the other he unzips his trousers.

“Do you always plan your day ahead?” Harry asks. He might have no idea what he’s doing, but his hands seem to know and he trusts them. He lets them lead him under Malfoy’s waistband and onto the soft skin of his arse and he lets them explore.

“Always,” Malfoy gasps. He’s rocking harder now against Harry, his grip on Harry’s arm bruising. 

Harry takes great pleasure in seeing him unravel. The arrogant, smug git that annoys him is now bucking against Harry’s thigh, panting, eyes fluttering close, face flushed. Harry kneads his arse and then traces the edge of his cleft with a firm finger.

“Fuck,” Malfoy gasps, “do that again.”

Harry does it again. He feels tingly once more, his blood rushing to his groin, his cock twitching at Malfoy’s sighs and moans, which must be the hottest thing on the planet. Harry raises his head slightly and kisses Malfoy’s lips softly, but Malfoy kisses back hard, almost painfully.

“Fuck,” Harry says and presses Malfoy’s hips hard on him, his mouth finding Malfoy’s again and kissing him, deep and urgently, his tongue tasting his own spunk. They rock together, gasping, snogging, holding each other tight.

“Harry, where did you get to?” someone calls from far away.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” Malfoy grits out and grinds harder, while Harry, not sure what he’s doing but doing it anyway, dips a finger between Malfoy’s arse cheeks and finds a tiny opening.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Malfoy says, his voice strangled as he comes. He flops on Harry, his grip softening on Harry’s arms, which will have bruises tomorrow. They both breathe heavily in each other’s arms. Harry touches Malfoy’s face in wonder. They look at each other and Harry presses in for a kiss—

“Harry, you there, mate?” It’s Ron and he’s coming closer. His voice snaps them into action and they sit up, zipping their trousers and cleaning the stains from their clothing. Harry stumbles from behind the dune.

“Ron. Sorry. It was too hot and I took a nap.”

Ron stares, incredulous. “You took a _nap_? Are you _trying_ to piss off Snape? And where’s that git?”

“He’s — around. Look, is it time to head back?”

“Yeah. Turns out Neville collected so much seaweed that we don’t really need to spend any more time here. Get your bag and come to the meeting point.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When Ron turns his back, Harry picks the half-full bag and turns to Malfoy, who’s watching Harry, a smile playing on his face.

“So, did you have anything else planned for today?” Harry asks, as they trudge back to the meeting point.

“Oh, Potter, my diary is full of plans,” Malfoy says with a smirk. “You just wait and see.” 


End file.
